


Not Dead Yet

by Too_Many_Usernames



Series: Aedan Cousland [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, post Ostagar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 17:28:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9775214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Too_Many_Usernames/pseuds/Too_Many_Usernames
Summary: Morrigan isn't that good at healing. The Warden isn't good at being healed.





	

''Why take them in?''

''Pah. I will explain myself when they are ready to leave. Need not waste words on repetition.'' Morrigan rolled her eyes at Flemeth's response, as she turned, mashing the root into a paste. Perhaps it her smashing was a little excessive, but she had to take her stress out some way, and elf root stems were the safest victim.

One of the wardens had still yet to fully regain consciousness, he was heavily wounded, according to Flemeth he'd been thrown against a wall by an ogre. Both witches were rather surprised the warden was still alive, so she could respect his constitution, at least.

She slipped back into her room - now rather full with one large warden, and set about spreading the paste over his injuries. With a weary sigh, she pressed her hands onto his skin, and willed the magic into existence. He grunted a little as Morrigan moved him, to spread the healing past across the flesh wounds on his side.

Whatever she might say to her mother - she didn't mind this task. Her warden was an attractive man, and she had met few of them in her life.

Morrigan wasn't much of a healer. She preferred to twist; her form, or people's minds. Healing didn't fall into those categories. It was too delicate, to slow. This Warden was practice; flemeth had told her as much - once certain he would live, the dark haired man had been passed into her care. He groaned again, and Morrigan looked across to see his eyes were blinking open. Morrigan leapt back, staring down at him in frightened surprise. She'd spent nearly a week with him. But then he was unconscious - it was a pretty good arrangement, she had thought.

''Where-?'' He began, his voice dry and weak.

''Safe.'' She promised, bringing a cup of water to his lips. There was a short scar running just below his eye that she had not been able to heal. It only about a month older than the rest of his scars yet she could not heal it - she knew it shouldn't, but it still bothered her, that stupid scar. Scars were too delicate. It required a certain artistry and patience that she certainly wasn't capable of. Besides, she sort of enjoyed the dangerous look it gave the young warrior. He looked at her questioningly, recognition flitting across his face.

''You- from the wilds.'' She nodded. ''How-''

''It seems one of your commander's fled the field. Mother was able to save you, but it would appear the rest of the forces are fallen.'' A look Morrigan could not quite trace crossed his face - horror, and grief, those were clear What confused her was that there was no _surprise_ , almost as if he had expected this. A familiar horror to him, perhaps. Morrigan filled the cup again, realising she would have to be more...  _delicate_ with this warden. 

'' The other warden - Alistair? He is here.'' She offered as an attempt at comfort. ''He's been moping for a few days, wasn't as badly injured as you were. You would have died, had we not saved you.'' He bowed his head in a small show of gratitude, but he was clearly too distracted.

''I should-'' He began, making a move to rise from the bed.

''You should remain where you are, Warden.'' She said scowling, and with just a little force pushed him back to into the bed. ''Were you not listening?'' She asked impatiently. ''You nearly died - need I list your injuries to force you to remain?'' He shook his head, exhaling deeply. Mother always insisted sleep was the best medicine, and so, sneakily, she began to creep a sleeping curse toward him.

''I had - a dog, was there-?'' Morrigan nodded - the thing barely left his side, and was distrustful of Morrigan before he seemed to realise she was, at least trying, to help him. Had it not been out with Alistair at this second the beast would doubtless be curled up by his side, keeping a careful vigil over its wounded master. Relief dawning on his face, She raised a hand, the spell fully taking effect as his dark eyes closed, and she left him to sleep.

''He awoke, if only briefly.'' Her mother looked up, showing a genuine interest. It bothered her that her mother seemed more interested in these warden visitors than she ever had been in _her_. Morrigan scowled, grabbing her staff and cloak.

''I shall ensure the stupid one has not fallen into a swamp.'' She declared, trying to catch her mother's attention. She mumbled something, waving her away.

''Stupid hag.'' She muttered as she left the cabin. Their shack itself was large enough that Morrigan could oft avoid her, but she was still bursting for independence from her mother. Morrigan was a woman grown now, she needed something more.  Shrugging the cloak around her shoulders, and wrapping her hands firmly around the staff, she set off. She should find the other warden - He was dumber than the dog, and spent most of his time crying or watching over Aedan. Doubtless to protect his comrade from the wretchedness of apostate magic.

She'd overheard his prayers one day, pleading to Andraste. He was foolish. Alistair reminded her of the sorts who dared venture into the wilds to try and capture Flemeth - reminded her of the game she used to play with her mother - tricking templar's to their death. It would be fun to play such a game with Alistair. But when she even hinted at it, even in jest, Her mother had been uncharacteristically defensive, and scolded her for hours. _Perhaps Flemeth has her own game_ , she thought. It was a constant challenge to understand her mother's various plots and schemes. She would not bother undermining her this time.

 

\-----

 

''Aedan!'' The warden looked up, as Alistair sprung into the room, the Mabari leaping onto his bed. The larger warden was sat up, and attempting to rise from bed. Morrigan scowled, striding forwards, to push him back.

''3 ribs, a shoulder and leg bone broken. A concussion as well, most likely.''

''Sorry?''

''You insisted it unnecessary for me to tell you how exactly you were injured and yet you still ignored my order to remain in bed.''

''Maker..'' Alistair breathed from behind them. ''Didn't realise it was _that_ bad.''

''And now he is better. 'tis because Apostate magic is stronger than any shackled mages you may have met.'' Morrigan said, with a slight prideful hint in her voice. ''Yet mother insists you remain here for several more days. I am not want to ignore her commands.'' She stepped forwards, a little annoyed her sleeping curse had only lasted a few hours. Perhaps she'd have to change her curses to affect warden physiology. She stepped toward him, preparing another spell - a more benevolent one this time, to heal. Aedan looked at her warily - every other time she'd used her magic on him he'd been unconscious. He had been diplomatic before - when they'd met in the woods. There was an anger in him that Morrigan saw from his fighting, but it seemed that did not extent to allies.

''I shall not hurt you, Warden, the opposite, in fact.'' She said, a little impatiently. He still looked nervously at the mage, her hands glowing with soft green magic.

''Alright'' He said, anxious as Morrigan knelt behind him. His shoulder was the worst - the bone had been completely shattered and would likely remain a problem for the rest of his life. All she could do now was mute the pain, and heal as best she could. He winced as Morrigan pulled up his shirt, and she heard Alistair gasp at the state of his comrade. Morrigan placed her hand against his skin, allowing her magic to work.


End file.
